and the plan is no plan


I’m sitting here drinking my second cuppa, trying to get going…  Trouble is, I can’t focus on what I should be going to do…  The garden is being well-hydrated by the rain gods and the plants don’t need me.   I spent a lot of time doing housework last week and I’m not so much excited at the prospect of doing more (though there’s more to be done).  I am reading a Perry Mason that is a lullabye-book, easy to put down.  Casey is working 10-hour days, so I’ve got some time on my hands and it’s not nice to waste it…what’s the plan?

ooh-kay, how about we hit the road with a camera and see what comes up?  How about I stop griping about the weather and get out into it, defy it, show it who’s boss?  Maybe I could scour the countryside for  places I’ve never been, set out without a plan, just a vague direction that gives my restlessness a chance to act out.

Or I could just sit here and think…think about people and relationships, about bills to pay and appointments to make;  think about the grandkids and the kids;  think about tomorrow and fall into the memory of  yesterdays.  Or I could Not Think:  This season is great for going outside and listening, letting the sounds of the birds, tree-flies, frogs, even the triple-peep of the turkeys drive all thought from my brain.  Out by the campfire ring, I sit on the picnic table and simply breathe, no thinking…  Though I’m silent, I feel like I’m part of the choir.

But that’s not a plan, is it?   I think I’ll clean up and get out.  I’ll let you know it turns out…




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